Harry Potter and the Vitrum Immortalitatis
by littleshinku
Summary: In his sixth year at Hogwarts Harry gives up, but his plans for complete withdrawal soon fall flat. His interest in life is rekindled when he hears rumour of a way to communicate with the dead... and perhaps bring them back.
1. Chapter One

Chapter One

Long into the night at Number 4 Privet Drive, Harry Potter cleaned. When there was nothing left to clean, he did it all over again. The kitchen, the living room, even the cupboards were cleaner than they had ever been. The only area of the house he had not touched was Dudley's room, and that had been expressly forbidden. He cleaned to avoid sleep, and he avoided sleep to avoid the dreams; dreams of Sirius falling forever in a dark place. The image was engraved in his subconscious, his godfather falling in that graceful arc and never finding the ground.

Harry focused on the perfect straight lines of the white tile only a foot from his nose and pushed the dream away. He shook his head and continued scrubbing at the clean floor. The grout looked almost new by now. Grief: top-of-the-line mildew remover. The lines between the tiles criss-crossed and turned around each other, twirling and spinning and for the first time in three days, Harry Potter slept.

It was a terrible day for Quidditch. Dark clouds gathered like a ceiling over the pitch and grounds, turning day into dusk. A high wind ruffled Harry's hair and pulled at his red uniform. He looked around at the other players, then blinked in confusion. A few he recognized, but most had blurred faces. No matter how he squinted, he could not make out their features.

The spectators were completely silent, as though they were watching an execution. Harry looked down in time to see Ron block the center hoop and send the Quaffle to one of Gryffindor's faceless Chasers. As the ball passed him, Harry saw that it was no longer the familiar red ball, but a human head. Cedric's eyes caught his for a brief moment before a silver and green flash snatched up the blond-haired ball.

Harry had to end the game. He flew higher, searching below him for the minute flutterings of the Snitch. He ducked a Bludger that had glasses and messy black hair like his own and dove for the tiny golden ball. He leveled out ten feet from the ground and pushed the Firebolt to its full speed. The Snitch held position only inches from his fingertips. It flicked to the right, slowing just enough to be caught. Cheering erupted in the stands as his fingers closed around the ball.

Harry grinned and raised his closed fist. The crowd gasped. Every person pointed at him, each with a look of horror. His brow knit with confusion, Harry slowly lowered his hand. Rather than trapping the tiny metal ball, his fingers were tangled in shaggy black hair. His godfather's eyes rested on his.

"Why didn't you listen?" Sirius croaked.

Startled, Harry dropped the severed head. Still pointing, the crowd began to chant.

"Why? Why? Why?"

Harry spluttered, trying to explain himself, but was unable to find the words.

"Why? Why? Why?"

Madam Hooch raised her arms and the crowd quieted.

"A penalty to the dead," she said. "Kill him."

Harry's breath was knocked out of him by a red-haired Bludger. He fell from his broom and the ball followed him to the ground. It continued to bash his ribs. Again the crowd began to chant.

"Wake up! Wake up!"

"Wake up, you stupid boy!" Aunt Petunia snapped, prodding Harry with her foot.

Harry groaned and pushed himself up from the floor, his arms aching dully.

"I don't know what you think you're doing," she huffed. "Sleeping on the kitchen floor when we've provided you with a perfectly good bed! Now I want you to..."

She glanced around as if looking for some chore for him to do, but the kitchen was spotless.

"Just go to your room," she said shortly.

Harry trudged up the steps, glaring at the blue carpet, then shut himself in the cluttered dimness of his bedroom. This room was safe, like a cave or a bubble. It was disconnected from the rest of the world, secret.

Unopened letters from his friends littered the floor. His trunk remained closed, as if unpacking it would signify an acceptance of the events of the past year. He flopped onto his unmade bed and stared through the ceiling. He ignored the dead mouse that Hedwig offered him and ran his fingers through his hair. It was nearly as greasy as Snape's now, for he had not cared enough to wash it in some time.

Harry watched the sun trace its slow course across the ceiling, thinking of nothing and making no response to his owl's attempts to get him to open his mail. Sometimes he dozed, but was careful not to fall into sleep. He avoided specific thought altogether. In this state of catatonia the day passed quickly. The Durselys went about their daily lives, unaffected by his absence. He supposed no one else would suffer from his withdrawal either. He was only a tool after all. Dumbledore would pick him up when it was time for him to be used, and could find him in this house, his utility drawer. Until then, it was safest for all if he did nothing.

Toward evening a shouting started outside, like a rough chant. It was soon followed by a high whistling throughout the house. Perhaps it was the fire alarm. The whistle died slowly, its tone getting lower and lower until it faded into nothing.

The door to his room burst open, allowing the invasion of the hall light. Uncle Vernon was silhouetted in the doorway, his shoulders set stiffly.

"Tell them to go away!" he demanded.

"Who?" Harry asked, returning his gaze to the ceiling.

"More of your kind, obviously! Skulking about in the street, dressed like freaks!"

His uncle strode into the room and pulled him up by his shirtfront. He continued ranting as he dragged Harry through the hall and down the stairs.

"Why we put up with this, I don't know. Now get out there and send them away. We don't need any more of your kind around here!"

He pushed Harry out the front door and slammed it behind him. Harry heard the deadbolt slide into place. He pushed his glasses up on his nose. Just as Uncle Vernon had said in his rant, there were indeed robed figures in the streets, familiar sets of robes and masks. They chanted uneven, indistinguishable words as they moved down Privet Drive at a zombie-like pace. The tight cluster of Death Eaters drew nearer his house, hexing any Muggles that came into sight.

Harry flattened himself against the front door. He was too exposed here, but their attention would be drawn even sooner if he ran. The Death Eaters paused in front of Number Four's driveway. The leader looked from Number Three to Number Five and back again. Harry closed his eyes. He hadn't even had a chance to grab his wand before Uncle Vernon had shoved him out the door. He caught himself wishing he had made a break for the back of the house while the Dark wizards were farther down the road. There were tall bushes, a bench... In short, it was much more defensible back there.

A little surprised that he had yet to be cursed, Harry slowly opened one eye. He was in the back yard.

"Potter!" rasped a gruff voice from the hydrangea bush. "Can't go poppin' around in a battle!"

"Wha–"

Harry was yanked into the bush by his collar. He felt the cold trickling of a Disillusionment Charm spread from the top of his head. His invisible protector, who sounded uncannily like Alastor Moody, spoke up again.

"Should've gone out the window, that's what you should've done."

"But–"

Moody shushed him. All was quiet again. After a brief moment a smattering of cracks sounded across Privet Drive, like the sound of fireworks on a clear night.

"There's a charm on your house similar to the one that keeps the Muggles from seeing the Leaky Cauldron. You'd best get back inside. I'll tell Dumbledore and he'll see about getting you moved."

"I–" Harry began defiantly.

"Go, Potter!" Moody growled. "I'll cover you."

Harry sighed in frustration and slumped back into the house, somehow disappointed that the danger had passed. He lay on his bed, exactly as before, and tried to stay awake. For the second night in a row, he failed. 


	2. Chapter Two

Before we get started, huge thanks to my lone reviewer, Raspberri13! This is my first HP fic ever, and your encouragement is much appreciated. : )

Chapter Two

Harry woke slowly, as though his body were battling him for its right to sleep. His eyelids opened with a reluctant slowness, but finally allowed him a view of the dimly-lit ceiling. It was still night. His dream had featured his godfather's death, but in this most recent one a new element had surfaced. High, cold laughter rang out in the chamber, each echo more mocking than the last. Before the veil had settled, Harry felt himself hoisted into the air and thrown into the eternal cold beyond the arch.

Hedwig hooted sleepily as Harry switched his desk lamp on. He realized now that what truly tormented him was not the fact that Sirius was dead, nor that it was entirely his fault. It was the manner of his death. The veil had fluttered for only a moment and fallen still. So much life was gone with so little fanfare. Would he die that way? There and alive, then gone so easily?

Harry lay back and stared up through the ceiling again. He let his thoughts flow away, just as he had all holiday, but this time something remained. In a back corner of his mind was a small thought that was not his own. It coiled in on itself, like a snake in an egg.

Before he could inspect it further, there was a crash from the downstairs. Perhaps the Death Eaters had returned to finish him off. It disturbed him a little, only a little, to find that this idea made him happier. At least he would die in a blaze of action.

Uncle Vernon's heavy footsteps nearly shook the house as he thundered down the stairs.

"You!" he spluttered.

Harry frowned at the next voice; Lupin's.

"We apologize for disturbing you at this hour, Mr. Dursley, but we've come to–"

"And you'll be leaving straight off!" Vernon shouted. "We've done nothing to the boy. Anything he's written to you is a bloody lie!"

"Pipe down, Dursley," said Moody.

"We're here because–"

"Don't tell him, Lupin! Bad for security."

"We don't have time for all of this," a silky voice cut in. Harry groaned. Of all the people they could have sent, did Snape have to be one of them? Besides, wouldn't this jeopardize his position as a spy?

"We're to take Potter and leave. Need I remind you that they could be here at any moment?"

"Out! Out of my house! I'll send the boy out to DON'T POINT THAT THING AT ME!"

Harry smirked. He half-wished he was downstairs, just to see the marvelous shade of purple his uncle's face must have turned. He heard his aunt's light footsteps reach the head of the stairs.

"Vernon? What is it?"

"Get back to bed, Petunia. I'll deal with them."

"Oh, really?" Harry could hear the sneer in the Potions Master's voice.

"Out!" Uncle Vernon demanded. "Perhaps I won't send the boy at all. I do have charge of him in the summers – something you lot seem to have forgotten. Always spiriting him away when he's got chores left; no consideration at all!"

"Now, Mr. Dursley, surely it's no trouble–" Lupin began.

"Oh ho! It isn't, is it? You let me be the judge of–"

"Silencio!" Snape interrupted. He continued in a deadly tone. "Get back upstairs. Let us take the boy and leave, with no more trouble. If he's not here when they arrive, no harm will come to you. So unless you are indeed as stupid as you look, you will step aside."

Uncle Vernon's footsteps going back up to his and Petunia's room sounded almost sullen. Two pairs of swifter feet soon followed him up the stairs and stopped at Harry's door. Lupin pushed the door open.

"There you are, Harry. And... you've already packed?"

"Never unpacked," Harry said tonelessly.

"Oh, that's... er..."

"I'm not going with you," Harry continued. "I quit."

"What?"

"I quit. I want out. Snap my wand, whatever."

"You can't quit, Harry," his former professor said sadly.

"But I do," he replied steadily, never moving his eyes from that spot just past the ceiling. "I don't want to... to die so easily. He'll kill me. It won't even be difficult for him, just like stepping on a bug, really. I don't want to die that way."

With a disgusted grunt, Snape pushed past Lupin.

"Enough wallowing, Potter." He dragged Harry up by his shirtfront.

"Snape–" Lupin began.

"Sod off, Lupin," he interrupted harshly. "The boy needs discipline."

"Hear, hear!" Uncle Vernon's voice was muffled by the walls. It seemed even a Silencing Charm couldn't keep him quiet for long.

"He needs sympathy," Lupin said reprovingly.

"Who thought the werewolf would be the soft-hearted one?" Snape sneered. "He needs–"

Harry gripped Snape's wrists. His green eyes flared.

"I need for all of you to bloody well back off!"

There was a delicate crash from downstairs.

"Sorry!" Tonks shouted up the stairs. "Easily fixed!"

Moody reprimanded her in a low growl, but the words were indistinguishable.

Harry felt the thing in the back ofhis mind uncoil, like a thin tendril. His eyes rolled back and a harsh voice rasped from his throat.

"Severus..."

Snape's eyes widened and he released his grasp on Harry's shirt. Harry's hands held tightly to the professor's wrists.

"Still on the wrong side, Severus?" A chuckle rippled through the boy. "I always knew. Lord Voldemort always knows. You would have died anyway, in the end. Now you will die sooner."

A sharp slap to the face brought Harry back. He fell to all fours, coughing, barely noting Snape's swift exit.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Lupin said, hiding the hand he had slapped him with as though ashamed of it. "Come on, we should be leaving now."

Harry nodded, rubbing his throat. He picked up Hedwig's cage and headed down the stairs. Lupin followed with his trunk. Tonks smiled brightly at him as he entered the kitchen, but said nothing under Moody's glare.

"Time!" The ex-Auror produced an old scarf from his pocket. Each person reached out and laid a finger on it.

"I thought we couldn't have a Portkey?" Harry asked.

"We have a bit more help from the Ministry these days, what with –" Lupin cleared his throat nervously. "Well, I expect you'll hear all about it soon enough."

Harry gave him a questioning look just before feeling the jerk through his navel as the Portkey dragged them all from Privet Drive.


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

As soon as the Portkey had dropped them at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Snape swept up the stairs, trailing more bitterness than usual.

Lupin quietly answered Harry's unspoken question. "Voldemort found out about Professor Snape just last month. He won't talk about it. It's ironic, really. Other than tonight, he hasn't been able to leave the house at all. Too dangerous."

"Last month?" Harry's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "But we were still in school."

Lupin looked at him, his face sadder than usual. "Harry... the new term starts in two weeks."

Harry's stomach dropped.

"But... School just ended... Summer can't be over already." His voice took on a hysterical quality that stirred up even more self-loathing. "How can it be August already? I never had June and July; it can't be August yet."

"Harry –"

"And my birthday... I've been sixteen for two weeks and didn't know it? That can't be right. I usually get presents by owl and –"

"Harry," Lupin said, more forcefully than was usual for him. "Calm down."

"But–" 

Firm, yet gentle, hands turned Harry's head up, forcing him to face his former professor. The werewolf's eyes brimmed with unshed tears.

"You've let yourself fall out of touch. This level of grief is not healthy, and it's time to stop. Sirius wouldn't want you doing this to yourself."

Harry screwed his face up in an effort to trap his tears. Two escaped him and rolled down his cheeks. Lupin's brow clouded with concern.

"Haven't you cried yet, Harry?" he asked softly.

The only answer he managed to make was a rough sob. He closed his stinging eyes, no longer trying to hold his sadness in. It tore from him in a series of wrenching sobs, like a length of barbed wire ripping through him. He felt himself pulled against Lupin's chest, and welcomed the embrace. An untold time later, his weeping subsided and his father's friend pulled away from him.

"You should go to bed now," he said quietly. "We'll fill you in tomorrow morning."

Harry nodded and wiped his eyes. He trudged up the stairs and into the room he had share with Ron last summer. His best friend was sprawled on one of the beds, snoring softly. Harry allowed himself a small smile. He slipped under the covers, feeling emptier than before, yet strangely peaceful. The despair was still there, lurking under the surface, but it had lessened. When sleep came, he was not afraid of the dreams it might bring.

Random and unrelated images tumbled through Harry's dreams, neither sad nor happy. A solid scene came to light through the jumble, as if he were waking into a dream. He was in a dimly lit room, just behind a man in a tall-backed chair.

"Have you found it yet?" the man rasped in an all-too-familiar voice.

A figure in Death Eater's robes knelt before him. "No, my lord. It was already gone when we arrived at the site. We have no definite evidence indicating who took it, but –"

Voldemort waved one pale hand dismissively. "It was Dumbledore's Order, certainly. Snape revealed my plans to him long before the artifact was located. He will pay for his treachery. What of the boy?"

"Our intelligence proved false, my lord. Ministry records have confirmed that Lily Potter had no surviving relatives."

"That is not true, my lord." Wormtail stepped out of the shadows behind the kneeling Death Eater. "She had an older sister who married a Muggle named Dursley. I gave you their last known address, Lestrange!"

The kneeling man stood quickly, his hood falling back to reveal gaunt features. "And in all of your research, you managed to overlook the little fact that the Dursleys died in a car crash eleven years ago."

The color bled from Pettigrew's face. "I... you see... my lord –"

"Stop grovelling, Wormtail; it really has grown tiresome. You vaunt your special knowledge of the Potters, and then continue to fail me when it is put to the test. But Lord Voldemort is merciful. You have one more chance to find the boy. Now leave us."

Wormtail backed out of the room, bowing so low that his forehead nearly scraped the floor. Once Pettigrew was gone, Voldemort turned back to Lestrange.

"Kill him."

"Harry!"

Harry woke to Hermione's joyful shriek, his scar aching dully.

"Ow!" He pressed one hand to his forehead. "Nice to see you, too, Hermione."

Ron stirred on his bed. "Hunh? Oh, morning, Harry."

"Why didn't you ever answer our letters? Did you get your OWL scores back? How did you do?"

"Let him breathe, Hermione." Ron sat up, rubbing his eyes and yawning. "Never mind; that's a good question. Why didn't you answer our letters?"

Harry shrugged noncommittally. "Just didn't get around to it, I suppose."

He thought back over his dream. He supposed he should tell Dumbledore about it, but he found himself reluctant to speak with the headmaster again. Their last meeting had gone less than spectacularly and he supposed that, deep in his heart, he blamed the old wizard for everything that was wrong in his life. He could have handled news of the prophecy at a younger age. Maybe not first year, but by second year he surely could have dealt with it. Third year would have been a good time as well. If he had known then, would things have turned out differently? Would Sirius still be alive? Cedric? No matter how many times he had been told that there was nothing he could have done, he still believed that he could have saved the Hufflepuff somehow.

"Harry? Are you listening?"

He shook his head to clear it. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

Hermione tapped her foot impatiently. "I've asked you three times about your OWLs. How did you do?"

"Oh, er... I dunno."

"You don't know? You haven't received them yet? Oh, honestly, they should have sent them to you by now."

"They may have." Harry looked out the window to avoid her eyes. "I haven't opened any of my mail this summer."

"Why not?" she asked.

"I'd rather not talk about it, if it's all the same," he answered hotly.

He saw the determined curiosity gather in her eyes.

"Now, really, H–"

"Let's see if breakfast's ready," Ron intervened. Harry thanked him with a nod.

With the exception of Ginny, they were the last ones to join the breakfast table. Ron loaded his plate as soon as they were seated, ignoring Hermione's glare of disapproval. She rolled her eyes at him, but soon started up a quiet conversation with Tonks. Harry smiled a little at the familiar scene.

"Are you feeling all right this morning, Harry, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, cautious concern in her eyes.

"I'm fine, thanks." He smiled reassuringly. "Er, where is everyone?"

"Arthur's at work already; with all that's been going on he's been quite busy. Professor Snape is upstairs."

Tonks rolled her eyes. "He just comes down long enough to nick the whole pot of coffee. Too good to eat with the rest of us, I imagine."

Mrs. Weasley gave her a warning look. "Albus should be here later this evening. Fred and George..." She frowned.

"Have opened a shop near Fluorish and Blotts," Ginny finished, taking a seat across from Hermione. "Morning, everyone."

"Which reminds me!" Mrs Weasley brightened a little. "I'll be taking you lot to shop for your school things this afternoon. I will be speaking to Albus about his choice of Defence teacher, though. I don't know how he could allow them to assign 'Proper Curse-Casting' as a text. It's practically illegal, and the other Defence texts aren't much better."

"I'm sure Dumbledore knows what he's doing," Lupin said quietly.

"What's been going on?" Harry asked, pushing his eggs around on his plate with his fork.

"What do you mean, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"Well, you said it's been busy at the Ministry with all that's been going on. What's been going on?"

"It's good and bad, I suppose," Lupin said unhelpfully. Tonks snorted a laugh.

"Fudge is dead," Ron said around a mouthful of toast.

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. "What?"

Lupin nodded. "He was assassinated on the tenth of June. Someone blew up his office, with him in it."

"Why would the Death Eaters kill him?" Harry asked. "He was doing just what they wanted."

"Wasn't them," Tonks answered. "Snape said they were as surprised as the rest of us. And it was a completely non-magical explosion. Possibly a potion of some kind, but probably not."

"Then who?"

"No one knows," said Lupin. "Some people say Dark wizards did it, others think it was Dumbledore. Strangely enough, those who think Dumbledore did it also think he had good reason. The ones who claim it was Dark wizards support him as well. As a result, our side has quite a bit more influence than we did last summer."

"Where's the bad?" asked Harry.

"The bad is that we don't know who really did it, or how they managed such a large explosion with no magic, or how they got into Fudge's office in the first place."

Ron pushed his empty plate away. "I think it was You-Know-Who."

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh. "For the last time, Ron, that just doesn't make sense."

"Think about it, though," he said, looking as if he were contemplating an opponent's chess move. "The way the Ministry's been hushing things up about themselves, using the 'Prophet' to slander anyone who makes them look bad, taking bribes... it's all very beneficial toYou-Know-Who if he wants to stay hidden. However, if he does try to take over, it'll be a lot easier if the Ministry is a bit less... consolidated. A little anarchy beforehand will make it easier for him to step in. It's the same thing Hitler did."

Everyone at the table stared at him mutely.

"What? I can't know a bit about history?"

Lupin blinked slowly before continuing. "Right, well, that's how things stand now. Voldemort's return has been officially recognized. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement even sent out little safety pamphlets."

Tonks snorted again. "The only problem is that they rather resemble the old pamphlets on how to survive nuclear holocaust. Totally useless."

"It probably serves the same purpose as those did," Hermione said knowingly. "Just like seatbelts on airplanes. To make the general public feel that there is some way to survive."

"That's cheery," Ron grumbled.

Later that afternoon, the three Gryffindors walked down Diagon Alley toward the twins' shop. Mrs Weasley had left them at Fortescue's, taking their booklists with her.

"I'm anxious to see the new shop, really," Ron said buoyantly. "I hear all sorts of things from them when they come to visit, but I haven't been yet."

A new, garishly-painted building had somehow been squeezed in next to the bookstore. It looked to Harry as though it had been decorated by Dobby. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of it.

"Er, Ron?" Hermione asked timidly. "How are we supposed to get inside?"

Harry frowned. The bright blue door, the only visible entrance, was all the way up on the second floor of the building.

"Er... Oh, I remember them talking about this," Ron said. "The stairs are invisible."

"Why?" Hermione asked. "Wouldn't they want it to be easy for customers to get inside?"

"Who can say with those two?" Ron walked shakily up the invisible steps.

Even having seen his friend walk up the stairs, Harry's feet still didn't want to believe they were really there. The inside of the shop was nothing like the outside. The walls were plain wood panelling and a water-stained beige carpet covered the floor.

"This is a bit unexpected," Hermione said.

"Tell us about it," said Fred from behind the counter. He finished wrapping a small brown package, then set it aside. Nearby, George fiddled with an old register.

"Used to be a law office," he said. "We're not officially open yet, anyway."

"We still need a sign."

"A more fitting interior."

"Stock."

"We used up most of what we had in our war with Umbridge," George told them.

Fred smiled wistfully. "It was well spent."

Hermione crossed her arms. "When you're wasting your time on invisible steps, it's really no wonder you haven't –"

"You think that's the best we could do? They were here when we got here." Fred started wrapping another box.

"I thought you said this was a law office," she asked.

"It was." George glared at the register.

"As far as we can tell, the lawyer didn't want clients to begin with."

"So he made it difficult for them to get in."

"No wonder he went out of business." Fred tied the package with twine. "Anyway, we're strictly mail-order right now. Most of our money went into renting this place."

"You wouldn't believe how expensive it is to have premises on Diagon Alley. We're planning the grand opening just into the winter hols."

"Hopefully by then the place'll be presentable."

"There you are." Ginny had come up the stairs behind them. "Mum's been looking all over for... Is this the new shop?" She leaned in, curious eyes roaming the place. "Bit drab, isn't it?"

"We're busy right now, little sister..."

"So if you don't mind..."

"Get out!" they finished in unison.

Ginny gave them a withering glare. "Why would I want to stay in this smelly old place? Not everything is about you, you know."

She flounced indignantly down the invisible steps. "Come on, you three! It's time to go."

After short good-byes, Harry, Ron and Hermione followed Ginny back down to the street.

"Go on, Ginny," Ron called. "We'll catch up."

The youngest Weasley pursed her lips, looking highly offended, but soon left them alone.

"Why'd you do that?" Harry asked, fearing that he already knew the answer.

"Don't get angry, Harry," Hermione said warily. "We've been wanting to ask you something and it's been difficult to find an opportunity."

"We know something happened while you were at the Dursleys'," Ron said seriously. "It seemed like Dumbledore was never going to let you leave there, and then last night..."

"Last night something happened," Hermione continued. "Moody came back early from watching your house. He was even more... perturbed... than usual."

"Which is very perturbed," Ron added.

"Anyway, he Flooed Dumbledore, who came over straight away and called an emergency meeting."

"But Mum sent us to bed before we could hear anything," Ron said. "And then, this morning, there you were."

Harry looked from one eager face to the other. He wanted to tell them, needed to talk to someone, but

"It's really none of your business," he mumbled, and left them behind. 


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four 

Awkward silence wrapped itself around Harry and his friends on the way back from Diagon Alley and remained unbroken until the three were alone in the library at Number Twelve. As Harry had expected, it was Hermione who first shuffled off the quiet.

"Harry, you can't –"

"Who's the new Minister?" He sliced into her words, not wanting to discuss his decision. His friends would be far safer if he kept them away.

Hermione's lips twisted with hurt confusion. Harry turned his back on her accusing eyes and pretended to peruse the shelves, though in truth he was too anxious to give the titles more than a cursory glance. He knew he had to distance himself, but he had not expected it to be painful.

"Well..." The hesitation in Ron's voice spoke volumes. "There is a process, naturally, but it takes a long time. The last time a Minister died while in office was... er... I think it was in the 1800s."

"1876," Hermione said quietly. "Minister Renforth-Giles. Found dead in a Muggle opium den."

"So what's the process?" Harry said impatiently. The serpent in his head was almost lethargically beginning to uncoil. He rubbed his scar absently. "How long before we know who's in charge?"

He could almost hear them exchange an anxious glance behind him and, with a twinge of guilt, imagined the fear in that glance. Eventually, Hermione explained, her voice weak.

"The Wizengamot will be convening in a few weeks, once the investigation is done, to discuss possible candidates. They're very thorough in the selection process and in election. The decision must be unanimous, so it can take a while."

"How long did it take the last time?" Harry turned back to his friends.

"Er... Three years?" Ron guessed.

Hermione nodded. "Three years, five months and two days."

Harry frowned. Granted, Fudge wasn't much of a leader, but at least there had been a figurehead. To go without one for so long, and in the current atmosphere... perhaps Ron was right about Voldemort being behind the assassination. If only he could think through his building headache, he was certain he'd be able to –

"What're you three doing in here –"

"–when there's a meeting about to start downstairs?"

Fred and George stood just inside the library's doorway, the latter of the two clutching a small paper bag. Their faces bore identical mischievous grins.

Hermione crossed her arms and glared at the twins authoritatively. "For the last time, we aren't allowed to the meetings."

"Rules are made to be broken," said Fred. "Which brings us to our newest invention, specially made for the dedicated eavesdropper."

George raised the brown paper bag. "We were going to call them Detachable Ears. You know, next step from Extendable Ears."

"But instead we're calling them Insects, after some Muggle device Dad was on about."

George flinched under Harry's impatient glare and cut to the vital information. "Right, well, you swallow one of these pellets and the ear of your choice pops right off."

"To be re-attached to any surface. Say, for example, the underside of the kitchen table."

"And how are we to put them there?" Ron asked doubtfully.

"We would be happy to place them for you," Fred said. He pulled a felt-tip pen from his pocket. "Better mark them before you pop them off. We still aren't sure if we've mixed ours up or not."

"We'll probably never know."

The cold marker tickled Harry's ear as Fred jotted a messy 'HP' on the lobe. Once their ears had been marked, George passed out the tiny purple tablets. Harry's ears felt loose, as though they might slip off of his head.

George rolled the top of the bag down and stuffed into his back pocket. "Now choose one, grip the lobe, and pull."

"Don't do both, though. The sounds get confusing."

Harry did as he was told. A faint 'pop!' later, his right ear lay on his palm. Fred collected the ears and concealed them in his sleeve. Harry winced at the loud rustling of the fabric.

"We'll return them after the meeting."

"Enjoy!"

By the time Fred and George got to the kitchen, the Order meeting had already begun.

"... haven't found them all yet," Dumbledore said.

The Headmaster's kindly voice grated on Harry's nerves. The great respect he'd held for the older wizard had dwindled, to the point that Harry now thought that perhaps Voldemort was right: Dumbledore was an old fool. He felt guilty, allowing himself to admit this, but also felt freer for it. Giving up required a level of detachment, and it would be easier to detach himself if he could focus on the negative traits his friends - no, former friends - possessed.

"We found the one in Egypt," said the tired voice of Remus Lupin. "At great expense."

"One what?" Hermione whispered. "What are they talking about?"

The boys shrugged in unison.

"There are two at Gringotts," said Moody, "though they have been separated."

"And one at Hogwarts," Dumbledore finished.

"That leaves one unaccounted for," said a silky voice that certainly belonged to Snape.

Ron's brow furrowed. "Could they be talking about spies? Death Eater spies?"

"Wouldn't Professor Snape know something, then?" Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head. "He got kicked out. It's not even safe for –"

There was a loud grating of heavy wood on stone, making all three flinch and gasp.

"...exactly are you insinuating, Lupin?" Snape sounded uncharacteristically frazzled.

There was another scraping sound, smaller than the first.

"I am insinuating nothing. I'm coming right out and saying it." The table creaked as someone, probably Lupin, leaned on it. "It's rather convenient that you've managed to remove yourself from the danger, isn't it? No more responsibility. You can while away your time in useless safety, just as you accused Sirius of doing."

"Remus, please –" Mrs. Weasley began. Lupin continued unabated.

"Nevermind that we've lost our only link to the inside. If you'd managed to keep up the ruse a little longer, we'd know where the others are, instead of floundering about while Voldemort races on ahead of us!"

"Don't presume to judge me, werew –"

"That will be quite enough," Dumbledore said sternly. "All of this arguing gains us nothing."

After an uncomfortable pause, during which there was much squeaking of chairs and shuffling of feet, Molly Weasley spoke up.

"Any word on the investigation, Albus?"

"None. Most explosive potions have been ruled out, but no suspects have been named. Other than myself, of course," the Headmaster said ruefully. "Unless something has changed. Tonks? Kingsley?"

Neither Auror said a word.

"It could be someone's holding up the investigation," said Moody. "You two stay vigilant. Make sure none of the evidence disappears."

"Easier said than done, Mad-Eye," Tonks said. "All of the evidence is tiny. Even the bits of the minister that were found were nearly impossible to identify."

"Can't you just Engorge it?" asked one of the Weasley twins.

Shacklebolt's deep voice answered. "Standard Ministryprocedure. We can't use any form of magic on a crime scene or evidence, because it risks contamination and makes it inadmissible in court."

"Just do what you can," Dumbledore told them. "Now, the last item on the agenda... Remus, would you please tell us all about what happened last night?"

Harry froze. He suddenly wished that Hermione and Ron had not given their ears to Fred.

"It was strange, Albus. We found Harry easily enough. Severus and I went up to his room. It looked as if he'd opened none of the letters he's been sent all summer."

"Cut to the chase, Lupin."

"I'm getting to it, Snape."

"Could you two please stop acting like children?" Mrs. Weasley scolded.

After a brief pause, Remus continued. "Harry was lying on his bed, looking very depressed. I've never seen him like this, Albus."

Snape huffed impatiently, but said nothing.

Lupin's words picked up speed. "He mumbled something about giving up. I think that –"

"What?" Hermione and Ron hissed.

Hermione glared at him. "Harry, if you think you can just –"

He shushed her, pointing at the place where his ear had been. Both his friends glared at him, but turned their attention back to the meeting.

"Can we skip this psychoanalysis and get to the important issue?" Snape said shortly. "Potter channeled the Dark Lord."

Harry frowned. Surely he would have remembered that. He glanced at Ron and Hermione only to find them staring at him with poorly-disguised horror. He shook his head.

"It's not true," he said.

"It's true," Lupin affirmed. "His eyes rolled back and he went sort of limp. He said something to Snape, but I didn't quite catch it."

"It was nothing important," Snape said quickly. "The point is that the boy is no longer safe... if, indeed, he ever was. If you send him back to the school, he'll only be endangering the other students."

"I won't leave him here," Dumbledore said. "If he can learn to protect his mind properly, those around him will be perfectly safe."

"You see how well that worked the last time," Snape said harshly. "Unless you are going to teach him yourself this time, Headmaster?"

"No, Severus, you are going to teach him. You have the most experience in blocking Voldemort, as I believe I've mentioned before."

Harry groaned.

"The boy showed no progress –"

Lupin interrupted. "Only because you–"

"Perhaps a different method of teaching would be effective, hm?" Dumbledore asked innocently. "In any case, the matter is closed. Good night, all. I will see most of you back at Hogwarts week after next."

There was quiet shuffling as the Order dispersed, but other than small talk, nothing was said. Harry heard the loud rustling of Fred's sleeve as his ear was removed from under the table.

"Harry," Hermione said cautiously. "Dumbledore's right. You do need to learn Occlumency, but we'll help you this time. Just like with the Triwizard Tournament."

Ron smiled weakly. "You'd better listen to her, mate. She's usually right on these things."

Harry shook his head. "You think this is a game? If we win, we get a big trophy, and if we lose, we don't?"

His scar burned as the snake twisted in his mind.

"That's not what's going on here!" he said loudly, nearly shouting. "If we lose, we die. If we win, we die. The only way to survive is not to play the game at all!"

"We know it's not a game," Hermione said quietly. "It's a war. And that means that there is no choice of whether or not to participate."

"People die in wars," Ron added. "It's unavoidable; every good chess player knows that. All we can do is minimize the casualties, and we certainly can't do that if you hide away."

"What do you know about it?" Harry asked, suddenly suspicious.

Hermione and Ron exchanged a nervous glance before the former explained.

"W... Well, Dumbledore thought it best to tell the prophecy to select Order members, just to be safe, since the record was destroyed, and... er..."

"You happened to be listening in?" he said acidly. "You shouldn't be doing that, either of you. It doesn't concern you."

"In case you haven't noticed, it does," Ron said hotly. "You're our friend, so it does concern us, and you've no right to treat us this way. You think you're the only target? I think we all managed to paint bull's-eyes on ourselves in the Department of Mysteries. We're already involved, and you shutting us out won't change that."

Harry closed his eyes. Ron was right. Deep down, he knew that, but the strongest part of him was too stubborn to admit it, and his head hurt too much to think about it anymore.

"I know, Ron, I just..." He ran his fingers through his messy hair. "I need some more time. I..."

The door creaked open, admitting Fred to the library. "I've got your ears here. Mum says to come down to dinner."

"So, eavesdropping, is it?"

His face frozen in an almost comical expression of fear, Fred slowly turned his head and looked over his shoulder. "Professor, I... er, that is –"

"Do go on, Mr. Weasley." Snape crossed his arms and raised an amused eyebrow. "How did you come about those ears?"

"Well... they are mine. Can't have too many ears! You never know when something might happen to one."

Harry rolled his eyes. He walked over to Fred and picked up the ear marked with his own initials. "We were listening in. Happy?"

"Ah, that spares me the unhappy task of informing you that your Occlumency lessons will resume. Meet me in this room promptly at seven th–"

"Severus..."

Snape stiffened. Harry's eyes rolled back so that only the whites showed. The boy stood straight, yet his muscles seemed slack.

"My Lord?"

"Not anymore, it seems," Harry rasped. He turned with a disturbing grace toward Ron and Hermione. "Ah, the Mudblood... and a Weasley. Your brother has been most helpful."

"Ron, don't listen." Fred's voice was unusually grave.

"No, you shouldn't," Harry continued. "Lord Voldemort has been called a liar by many. Others know I speak only the truth...Severus?"

Snape's eyes narrowed. "A version of it."

Voldemort laughed through Harry's lips. "The truth is flexible. Do you suppose, Severus, my beloved servant, that you evaded me all this time because you are a strong Occlumens, or simply because that is what I wanted you to believe?"

The Potions Master's guarded expression dropped, revealing open shock. He quickly recovered. In one fluid motion, he drew his wand and pointed it at Harry's heart.

"You hate the boy. That much, at least, was true. Kill him. Kill us."

"No!" Hermione lunged forward, pushing Snape's wand-hand aside. "Harry, I know you're still in there. Come back to us! You have to try. Come back!"

There was a deep gurgling in Harry's throat, almost as if he were drowning.

"Move, you stupid girl!" Snape shoved her aside and pressed the tip of his wand to Harry's chest. "Stupefy!"


	5. Chapter Five

Acknowledgements:  
LooniBecks: Thanks for your constant support. I think I'm becoming a review junkie :) Don't worry, the current suspense will be resolved and replaced with... more suspense.

Raspberri13: Ah, my other constant reviewer. Many thanks to you, too. Hopefully I'll be able to start updating more frequently after I've finished moving. I'll be working at my mother's used bookstore, so I'll have a lot of time... unless the books make me read them. The classics tried to lure me in the last time I was there and I just barely escaped.

Chapter Five

Harry woke to the sound of hushed voices. As far as he could tell, he was lying on a sofa, and hoped it was not the one in the library. He had a hazy memory, insubstantial as a dream, of taunting Snape, and something about one of Ron's brothers. His eyes snapped open as the memories returned to him in a rush.

"Oh, no," he groaned.

"Ah, Harry, you're awake." Dumbledore leaned over him, flashing a friendly smile. He pulled a chair up beside the couch and sat heavily. "Severus, would you leave us for a moment?"

"Headmaster, I–"

"Thank you. I'll see you at Hogwarts."

Snape sneered, but left without saying another word.

"He'll still be teaching?" Harry asked conversationally. He would do anything to avoid talking about more serious matters, even if he were only putting them off for a little while longer.

"Yes, of course. He'll be safer there than anywhere else."

"If you say so."

A long, uncomfortable silence later, Dumbledore spoke again. "I suppose you've heard by now that you will be studying Occlumency again, and I'm certain that you can see the reasoning behind my decision."

Harry nodded reluctantly. "Was there anything else?" he asked harshly.

"I gathered that you had not yet received your OWL results. It is shameful the way the post is run these days." He handed over a large manila envelope.

Blowing out an anxious breath, Harry opened it. His results were another thing he had been carefully avoiding. He knew he wouldn't have high enough scores to be an Auror, or probably to do anything else of value. He pulled out the sheet of parchment and read over his scores, feeling a bit better with each one, until he got to Potions.

"Well, that's it, then."

"What's the matter, Harry? You did quite well, truth be told. Your Defence score was among the highest in the school."

Harry frowned. "I'll never be an Auror, though. I can't get into Advanced Potions with just an E."

"Well, as to that..." Dumbledore smiled. "I'm afraid Professor Snape has had to lower his standards a bit."

"That's not right." Harry sat up. "It's not fair that he should have to admit me when I don't meet the requirements. I don't want everything handed to me."

The Headmaster shook his head. "It's really nothing to do with you, Harry. The Ministry strongly suggested that it would be best, what with the war, if more people were educated in that particular field, especially as related to healing and defence. Normally I don't let them order my teachers around, but I must confess that I agreed in this case. I drew the line at their changing his curriculum, but Severus was still understandably upset."

Harry nodded slowly. A bright ribbon of hope twisted through him, almost snuffed out by the darkness of the depression that surrounded it. Perhaps he wasn't so hopeless after all. He's study more this time around; he had learned his lesson. If he could survive Advanced Potions and make it through his NEWTS, he could get into the Auror training program with no trouble. He smiled a little. As an Auror, he would finally be able to make up for all of the deaths he had caused.

Dumbledore gave him a fatherly pat on the shoulder. "I'll leave you to rest for a few minutes. Dinner should be ready shortly."

Harry could hear the Headmaster's knees pop as the older wizard stood to leave.

"Sir?" he said quietly.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Er... I was just wondering what's happening with the house, since Sirius... er... is it safe for us to stay here?"

"He left no will, and since none of his remaining relatives have claimed the house, it falls into Ministry custody. We don't expect any trouble with keeping this as our headquarters since, frankly, the Ministry cannot claim what it cannot find." Dumbledore smiled, the mischievous twinkle returning to his eye.

"What about Kreacher? If I see him... I don't think I could...If it hadn't been for him--" he shook his head angrily.

"He's dead, Harry. He'd crawled up inside the chimney and passed on, from old age, apparently." The Headmaster removed his glasses and cleaned them on his sleeve. "We only found him a week later, when Tonks Flooed in. Corpse fell right on her head. Of course, it was rather... pungent by then."

Harry snickered, and Dumbledore twinkled in response. "I'll see you at school, Harry."

Soon after Dumbledore left, Mrs. Weasley called everyone down for dinner. The moment Harry entered the kitchen, Hermione and Ron dragged him to the far end of the table.

"We'd like a word with you," Ron said as they sat on either side of Harry.

Harry frowned with worry. Had they decided to alienate themselves from him after all? That was what he had wanted, wasn't it? After their last conversation, he wasn't so certain anymore. He did need them. The prophecy may have labeled him as the big gun, but he still needed his support system. He needed a strategist and a font of knowledge.

"I don't want–"

"We know," Hermione interrupted. "You don't want to involve us. The problem with that is we're already involved."

Ron continued. "Keeping us in the dark won't keep us safe."

"But–"

"We're just suggesting that you let us know what's going on," Hermione said. "You don't have to tell us any more than you're comfortable with. Besides, there's no point in trying to shut us out." She grinned.

"She's right, mate. You're stuck with us."

A slight smile touched Harry's lips. "I can live with that."

Over dinner, Harry told his friends about the happenings at Privet Drive, leaving out his nightmares and manic cleaning. Careful to avoid being overheard by the others at the table, he related the dream he'd had soon after arriving at Grimmauld Place.

"Did you tell Dumbledore about your dream?" Hermione asked.

"No," he said. He sighed. "But I suppose I should."

"Do you think the artifact that You-Know-Who was talking about could be related to whatever the Order was discussing earlier?" Ron asked. "Maybe they weren't talking about spies at all."

"That's possible," Hermione said. "If you tell Dumbledore about your dream, he might give away some clue as to what exactly this artifact is. That should give us somewhere to start looking."

Harry nodded. "I'll talk to him after the Welcoming Feast."

Snape swept into the kitchen, pausing only long enough to snatch up the plate of chicken before stalking back out.

"Seven thirty, Potter," he called over his shoulder.

Harry pushed the peas on his plate around with his fork. "I'd forgotten about that."

"I don't envy you," said Ron. "I'm sure he'll be twice as fun after you... after this afternoon."

"Now, Ron, this afternoon only reinforced that Harry must learn Occlumency." She turned to Harry. "Please, you really have to try hard. Just pay attention so that we can work together on it, all right?"

He nodded. "Speaking of this afternoon... er... Ron, do you suppose...?

The redhead frowned and stabbed at a bit of potato petulantly. "I've been wondering, too. D'you reckon Fred knows who he was talking about?"

Hermione sighed. "I'm sure he was lying, Ron. None of your brothers would–"

"I'll bet it's Percy," Ron continued. "He'd fit right in with that crowd. Stupid git."

Though he silently agreed with Ron, Harry shook his head. "Even Percy's not that daft."

Ron shook his head. "I'm not so sure."

Harry entered the library promptly at 7:30 to find Lupin and Snape glaring death at each other from opposite sides of the room.

"At last," the Potions Master sneered. "You're very nearly late."

Though a suitable come-back rose to his lips, Harry remained silent.

"Did you hear me, Potter?"

He tamped down his anger enough to answer meekly. "Yes, sir."

"Don't give him such a hard time, Snape," Lupin said hotly.

Harry shot him a concerned look. Remus had been more short-fused toward Snape in the past couple of days than he had ever remembered seeing him. It was almost as though the werewolf were channeling Sirius at times.

When Lupin turned to the boy, his eyes softened. "Professor McGonagall will be over-seeing your Occlumency lessons while at school, to avoid a repeat of last year." He cast a sharp glance toward the other adult as he said this. "Since she's unavailable tonight, I've volunteered for this lesson."

"Informative as this is," Snape cut in smoothly, "we really must get started. I have no intention of spending my entire evening in a room with two puerile Gryffindors. Clear your mind, Potter. Just as before, but do try to block me this time."

"I thought Dumbledore told you to try a different method," Remus interrupted.

"It's called 'review,' Lupin. It's what teachers do. Now kindly stop interrupting my lesson."

Harry found that emptying his mind was a bit easier than it had been before. He'd been doing it all summer, after all. It wasn't so much turning his mind into a complete blank as it was making sure his thoughts and emotions remained formless. Rather than a void, his mind became an amorphous swirling.

"Legilimens."

The intrusion seemed slowed by the chaos, but began to bring the formless memories into shape. His most recent dream coalesced and replayed itself.

"Have you found it yet?"

"No, my lord. It was already gone when we arrived at the site. We have no definite evidence indicating who took it, but –"

"It was Dumbledore's Order, certainly. Snape revealed–"

Harry tried to push the invader back out of his mind, hoping that the professor had not seen enough to realize the dream was recent. Snape was the last person he wanted commenting on his dreams. As before, pushing back proved fruitless, and the memory took shape once more.

"Our intelligence proved false, my lord. Ministry records have confirmed that Lily Potter had no surviving relatives."

"That is not true, my lord. She had an older sister who married a Muggle named Dursley. I gave you their last known address, Lestrange!"

On nothing more than a wisp of a whim, Harry changed his tactics completely. Fighting back gained nothing against a mind more practiced. It was time to do what he'd wanted to do since being sent back to Privet Drive. It was time to give up. He stopped trying to repel Snape, and instead let himself fall completely into grey chaos. The invading mind wormed its way through his, as though trying to find something to latch onto, then withdrew.

"Interesting strategy, Potter. We'll test it again in a moment." Snape crossed his arms. "What was the dream I saw?"

"Nothing, sir." A quick glance at Lupin showed open concern in the werewolf's eyes.

"And I assume you came to that judgment yourself, rather than allowing the Headmaster to decide what is and is not important?"

"Er..."

Snape sighed dramatically, rubbing his temples. "Though I dislike trusting these... visions of yours, they are now our only insight to the Dark Lord's activities."

"Then why do I have to learn Occlumency? Sir."

"It's no longer about stopping the dreams completely, Potter. We're trying to limit the Dark Lord's influence on your consciousness. How would you feel if one of your little friends... say, Miss Granger... were killed by the Dark Lord using your own two hands?"

Harry frowned. He had considered that possibility, of course. It had been one of his chief concerns since Voldemort had possessed him in the Ministry lobby. He met Snape's black glare, but said nothing.

"With that in mind, we'll try again. The method you used before is very close to being correct." The near-praise was delivered stiffly. "Though easier to maintain, it is still possible for a skilled mind to force thoughts and memories to take shape. Once more. Legilimens!"

Even with little warning, Harry was able to reclaim that fluid state of mind. As before, Snape sifted through his mind, but this time did not manage to capture any memories. He delved more deeply, but suddenly recoiled, as though surprised. The ether of Harry's mind swirled with the boy's confusion. Surely he would know if the professor had run across another memory. He hoped it wasn't anything to do with his own self-loathing. He'd never hear the end of it.

Concerned, he turned his attention to the deeper levels of his own mind. Snape's searching presence had met the other invader; the egg-like thing that had lodged itself at the back of Harry's mind. It shifted restlessly, as if trying to awaken from a troubling dream. The professor retreated.

When Harry opened his eyes, Snape was staring back at him, paler than usual.

"What was that?" he asked in a whisper, barely audible.

"I-I don't know, sir."

Snape quickly regained his composure. "The lesson ends here for tonight, Potter."

He swept out of the library without another word. Lupin stared after him, his eyebrows drawing together.

"What was that about?"

A/N:

Yeah, I know; I'm really talkative today. Just a few notes.

1) It always bothers me in these sixth year fics when Snape is bullied or blackmailed into lowering his standards for Harry (and sometimes Ron). It just doesn't seem right. I hope I gave good reason for it here, but I'm afraid I've just fallen into that trap. The other popular option is to have Harry miraculouslly pull an O, but I really don't see that happening, either. Maybe an E, but probably an A.

2) I know we're all as tired of reading about Dumbledore's twinkle as we are of reading about that damned scar. I swore to myself that there would be absolutely NO twinkling in any fic I ever write, but here it is in my fist fic. Twice. Sorry about that.

3) Chapter Six is already in the planning stages (that's way ahead of schedule for me) and will probably be completed by Friday. I'm still in the process of moving, though, so I can't really make any promises. I can, however, give you an idea of what to expect. We will be getting to Hogwarts (finally), meeting the new DADA professor, and having one of those lovely informative-yet-uninformative talks with Dumbledore. And twinkling will again be forbidden.


End file.
